Trained Attack Falcon!
by VampireNaomi
Summary: Why do you think Blind Pew is blind? Crack.


This idea comes from the video game Broken Sword 2 in which the main character stumbles upon a film crew making a Treasure Island movie. It turns out that the writers have made big changes to the plot and characters to make sure the movie will be a box office hit. The following exchange takes place.

George: You haven't written out Long John Silver?

Director: Are you questioning my integrity as an artist? Of course Silver's still in it. We've even hung onto Captain Flint.

George: His parrot.

Director: His trained attack falcon! Why do you think Blind Pew's blind?

So, yeah. Don't expect anything but senseless stupidity from this fic. This isn't compatible with canon because in episode 12 we see that Pew was already blind when Captain Flint was alive.

**TRAINED ATTACK FALCON!**

Captain Flint was dead as a doornail. His crew could see it on Billy Bones' face as soon as he descended the stairs from the captain's room and took his place at the table. Nobody said a word. In the backs of their minds they all knew that soon there would be talk of the treasure, but for now they only thought of their dead captain.

Silver suggested that they should return to the ship and raise a mug of rum in Captain Flint's honour. No pirate ever needed to be coaxed into drinking, so this was immediately accepted by everyone. They made it to the ship that was disguised as a merchant vessel and brought all the rum to the deck. Soon enough everyone was drinking, singing and having a marvellous time.

Well, except for poor Pew. Someone had to remain sober and keep watch, and he had got the short end of the stick this time. He walked around the deck, glaring at the others as they consumed more rum that should feasibly fit into a human stomach and laughed, sang, joked and argued with each other. All of this would have normally been entertaining to him, but now that he couldn't be part of it, he hated every second and resented his crewmates. Grimacing to himself, he decided that he'd have his revenge in the morning.

Silver was the first pirate to wake up from his drunken slumber. He rubbed his face and tried to put his thoughts together for long enough to remember where he was and what had happened. As his eyes slowly became accustomed to the bright morning sun, he realised that he was lying on the deck of the _Walrus _with an empty bottle of rum in his hand. The others pirates were sprawled all over the deck, still asleep.

We can only hope old Flint appreciates the headache we're all having today, he thought as he sat up. He was a better drinker than anyone else onboard, but even he now felt like crawling into a dark hole to escape the sun and the terrible noise the ship was making. The waves against the hull. The creaking of the boards. Ropes swaying in the wind and hitting the masts.

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest! Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!"

Silver groaned and grabbed his head when Pew's scratchy voice suddenly pierced his skull and sent a wave of pain and nausea through him. When he opened his eyes, he saw the devil in question cheerfully mopping the deck and singing to himself in rhythm of his work.

"Pew! What are you doing?" Silver asked.

Pew stopped his work for a while and regarded Silver with a crooked smile. "Oh, good morning! I'm only cleaning up a little," he said. With a cackle, he resumed both his work and his singing.

"Drink and the devil had done for the rest! Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!"

The others were now waking up as well, moaning and muttering profanities when they realised why their sleep had been interrupted.

"What's going on?" Billy Bones asked.

"It's Pew," Silver said.

"Ugh. Can't someone make him shut up?" George Merry asked.

"Please shoot him," added Tom Morgan from inside an empty barrel.

Silver fumbled around, but there were no weapons within his reach. He supposed he could have got up and retrieved one from under the deck, but the mere thought made him feel sick. It was then that his eyes fell on the trained attack falcon that was sitting on a wooden box by his side.

He had recently acquired the falcon when he had won a bet in Savannah. He had originally been thinking about getting a parrot as it was more traditional, but the falcon looked menacing and could hunt rats onboard, so it was more useful. The falcon was called Captain Flint because naming him after their dead captain had felt like a fantastic idea last night with him drunk and Flint dead.

"Hey, Flint. Go get him," he said to the falcon and pointed at Pew.

Flint spread his mighty wings and took off, circling around the ship for a while as he observed his target. The pirates watched his flight with anticipation. Pew was oblivious of everything that was going on around him and didn't notice anything odd.

"Dead and bedamned and the – Aargh! My eyes! My eyes! Help me!"

Everyone groaned when Pew's horrible singing turned into even more horrible pained screaming.

"Now look what you did," Israel Hands grumbled as Pew's shrieks kept going on and on. "He's making even more of a ruckus!"

Yes, Silver thought. Maybe this hadn't been one of his brightest ideas.


End file.
